Wounded
by Koyasha
Summary: Olivia's shot trying to save Elliot and feelings are unearthed.


_Wounded_

By

Koyasha and Janeway

Chapter One

Elliot gripped his gun tightly as he rounded the corner.

"Position 9 to Central. 10-85, Central. K."

"10-4."

"Elliot!"

He could no longer see Olivia, whom he assumed had gone ahead of him.

"Olivia, what is it?"

She came tearing back around the corner. "Elliot!"

He followed her glance. It was a ledge he hadn't seen, hidden behind the fifth-story balcony.

"Drop the weapon!"

But the shot had been fired already, directly at Elliot's heart. Olivia could barely hear it over the rumble of police cars responding to the 10-85. The last thing she saw was the red flashing lights, coming nearer and nearer as she pushed Elliot out of the way and fell towards the ledge. The rest was a terrible blur, his arms around her, pulling her backwards from the parapet.

"Liv. Can you hear me?"

She had no strength to move. Her eyes were open, but she could not make sense of the world around her. The sirens continued to drone, but the sound was harsher now, closing in on her, until finally, mercifully, it stopped.

Chapter Two

Olivia slowly opened her eyes and squinted at the bright lights.

"Elliot…"

She looked at the faces surrounding her, full of relief and concern. But his was not among them.

"Olivia, don't try to talk too much," began Munch as he laid a comforting hand on her arm.

"You gave us quite a scare," added Fin.

"How are you feeling?" asked Lake.

Had they heard? Had she even spoken his name out loud?

The doctor cleared her throat. Olivia focused her gaze upon her. "I'm Doctor Wakefield. Well, Ms. Benson, it was pretty touch-and-go at one point, seeing as how you lost so much blood, but you've pulled through wonderfully. The bullet passed straight through your body and didn't leave any permanent damage. I imagine that we'll be able to discharge you in a couple of days."

"That's great," remarked Lake.

Olivia smiled weakly. "Thank you Doctor."

"I'll leave you to chat with your friends. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours." She looked at the detectives. "Not too long of a chat, gentlemen. Ms. Benson needs time to rest and recuperate." And she exited the room.

Munch smiled kindly at Olivia. "Take your time, okay? There's no rush. We'll be here whenever you want to tell us what happened."

What happened? There wasn't anything to talk about. She knew what she had done; she would do it again.

"Elliot! Where's Elliot? Is he all right?" She sat up as she spoke, a sense of urgency creeping into her voice with every word.

"Hey, hey, lie back, okay?" said Fin. He softly pushed her back down onto the hospital bed. "Elliot wasn't hurt. You saved his life, Liv."

So he was alive. Somewhere out there, alive.

"If you hadn't seen the shot coming, I don't know that either of you would have made it," said Munch.

"Cragen's asked that we take your statement," said Lake, withdrawing his notepad, "if you feel up to it-"

Olivia cut him off. "What about the perp, Barrett?"

"After he shot you, he tried to make a run for it," explained Munch. "Thankfully, he was no match for New York's finest."

"What Munch really means is that the jerk tried to make a speedy getaway but ended up running into Detective Lake and myself," said Fin. "We had no problem, after a little persuasion, showing him the luxurious backseat of our cruiser. He was booked straight away. Novak says that they've got a solid case against him, so that prick's going to Rikers for a long time."

Olivia sighed, the weight of the case lifting from her. Now those girls could rest in peace.

"It's a good thing Elliot rode in the ambulance with you - otherwise we might not have had anything left of Barrett to lock up," mused Lake.

Munch could see the question in her eyes and chose to answer it. "Elliot's giving Cragen his statement. He was with you the whole way and would only leave once we came to take his place."

Olivia nodded slightly. She turned her head to the side, wondering when she would begin to register the pain in her shoulder. Lake put the notepad back in his pocket.

"We'll come back tomorrow, okay Liv?" said Munch. "In the meantime, just try to get some rest."

"Thanks," she said quietly. They each smiled at her in turn before leaving the hospital room.

Olivia closed her eyes. Her thoughts returned to the fire escape. Her head spun around, and she saw the gun, she saw it fire almost before the trigger was pulled.

The hours passed. Where was Elliot? Why hadn't he come to see her? Once, she awoke, sure of seeing his face, but the room was empty.

Chapter Three

Olivia paced around her living room. Nothing was the same; not the pattern on the wallpaper, the dull sound of police sirens, not the memory of Elliot's face, frozen in fear, watching as she fell helplessly into his arms. All of these things had taken on a new meaning now, colored by her own fear, her own confrontation with death.

She heard a soft knock at the door, but didn't answer. Instead, she turned away and looked toward the window.

"Liv. I know you're there."

Instinctively, she drew in her breath. Of course he knew. Where else would she be, after almost a week in the hospital?

"Come on, Liv. I need to talk to you."

Talk. That was not either of their strong suits. She sighed and unlocked the door.

"God, Elliot, you look terrible."

He smiled at her frankness. She was used to seeing that smile, to wishing that it would appear more often.

"I'll take your word for it. Can I come in?"

She nodded, then sat down on the sofa. He closed the door behind him. She looked into his face, shocked by the deep circles under his eyes.

"Liv, I-"

"Look, whatever you came here to say-"

"I know you think I didn't come to see you."

"I _think _you didn't come? You didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"Elliot, what are you talking about? Look, it's okay. I get it."

"Olivia-"

"Really, Elliot, it's fine. You don't need to explain yourself to me. You have a family that needs you."

"Liv, I was there. I just… I couldn't… You were asleep."

"I see."

Her voice cracked.

He began pacing, much in the same way as she had done, perhaps tracing her exact steps. She watched his hand run over his forehead.

"You don't know what this has been like for me-"

"For you, Elliot? For you? I was the one who got shot, remember?"

"Do you think I don't know that?" He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. "You took a bullet for me. Do you think there is a second that goes by that I don't think about what happened, that I don't wish -"  
She could hardly believe that tears were streaming from his eyes. She looked away, then slowly back again. He held his head in his hands.

"I thought I'd lost you."

She looked at the deep lines on his hands. They seemed so helpless now, but she remembered their strength. She had never touched him before, but she felt as if there were nothing else to do. His hand felt rough and warm against her skin.

"Elliot -"

She hadn't realized that his other hand had caught her wrist, and that he was pulling her towards him. There was an instant where everything stood still, and then she felt the pressure of his mouth against hers. She was incapable of control, but too conscious of the willpower she possessed over her own mind and body. His hand reached through her hair, and she shivered. He was on his knees, his body falling over hers. She held his face in her hands, wanting to push him away yet pull him closer, as if the weight of his mouth and body were not enough. Her senses were completely filled with nothing but Elliot; the taste of his lips, his tongue, the heat of his body as it pressed insistently against her own.

"Ah-" she cried in pain as his hand traveled over the bullet wound. He stopped, and still she touched his face, pleading with him not to let go. They lay there breathless. She was bleeding, but the love in Elliot's eyes cut through her still more deeply. He didn't speak, but lowered his head to her chest. Her hands ran desperately over his head, through his hair, and then he was gone, leaving the door half-open behind him.

Her hand lay across her chest, and she could still feel him, more intensely than when he had been there – as if what had passed between them were something that could only exist in the imagination.

Chapter Four

The early afternoon sun beamed down on the roof of the Supreme Court building. Center Street was in its usual state of midday chaos, and the park across from the courthouse drowned in melting snow. It was one thirty. Olivia walked up the shallow steps and saw him doing the same, her mirror image. When he reached the platform, he stopped, and it was perhaps the first time she had ever seen him look nervous. Dressed in a blue suit, prepared to give his statement. She had seen him a hundred times in this setting, maybe more, but she knew he wasn't thinking of the court date, not even of the circumstances that had led up to it. He adjusted his tie, a motion she was sure she had never seen him make.

Olivia had thought the entire matter through and when she walked towards him it was without hesitation.

"Elliot," she said. He looked up, only briefly.

"Novak's going to have a field day with this one, huh?"

"Elliot," she said again.

He couldn't meet her gaze, but she didn't care. She stared at his face, in order to remember every detail of it. She saw the sun on his brown hair, thinking that this was, in some way, her last look at him.

"What I feel," she said in a steady voice, "is here." She lifted his hand and touched it to the bandaged wound on her shoulder. "There isn't any other way for me to say it." A stone-faced lawyer brushed past them, holding a black brief case.

Finally, Elliot looked at her.

"Do you understand?" she asked.

Underneath her touch, she felt him shake.

"But I need _you_ to understand –"

She shook her head, letting go of his hand. She stepped backward, towards the entrance to the courthouse.

"No El," she said, smiling. "I don't need to see it to believe it."

Epilogue

_I lie here, night after night, wondering if my life and my work will amount to anything – constantly weighing each choice I've made and each choice I'm going to make. I am imperfect, but whenever I could, I've chosen right over wrong, sacrifice over personal gain. You are my sacrifice. You've left me wanting you, and yet you walk away with a peace of mind I'll never know._

_I told you that I didn't need to see it to believe it, but I'd be lying if I said I'd never wondered – never asked myself how far you would go. You won't have to ask those questions of me, you already know. It scares me to think how much you know about me._

_You once accused me of knowing nothing about relationships; you told me that you were the longest relationship I'd ever had with a man, and you were right. Can you imagine how it feels now? Were you trying to make me admit it to you all over again? I should have stopped you; I should have pushed you away when I had the chance. It would have been easier that way. Easier to sleep. I would rather imagine a moment that could never come to pass, instead of endlessly replaying one that never should have happened._

_One day, I will lose the memory of your touch. The thought of you lying in my arms will be nothing more than a fiction, and one that neither one of us would admit to having dreamed of. _

_One day, too, my wound will heal. Perhaps it will not even leave a scar._


End file.
